Abi of Cyrene, Chapter Ten

CHAPTER TEN

The Hall of the Candace

Although it was an early hour, the festive dinner commenced. During previous soirees Abi had attended, the Candace took on a tired look early. Parties always began before the sun passed over the mountains, and the guests never lingered.

In the antechamber, ceremonial washings created a stir. The Jewish ritual preceded the elegant banquet in the impressive dining area. Bejeweled guests streamed into the room, where they sat in groups of fours at small tables piled high with figs, flatbread, honey, and salt-pickled vegetables.

The servants served each guest a stuffed pigeon. Obviously the cooks had toiled through the preceding night to prepare such a large feast. Everyone but Abi and Melech must have known the traders would arrive that day.

The aroma of dill and cumin mixed with the smell of roasted birds swirled through the air. Happy chatter filled the room.

Were her sisters in the court? Lisimba and Malaika never came home even when they could. In the past, arguments had broken out between them and their father.

Announcing the arrival of the distinguished guest, a drummer jolted Abi back into the moment. A uniformed guard escorted the traveler who had ridden by the goats on the road that morning. What caught her attention was the enormity of his feet.

Striding across the regal hall, he was conspicuous in his difference from the Nubian guests. His oily rose brown skin glistened like polished African mahogany.

As the attendant showed the stranger to the table of honor occupied by the royal couple, he became vulnerable to the staring maidens, lined up on the left. In a row of onlookers, Abi could look as much as she pleased. Thick black eyebrows with high natural arches accentuated his enormous eyes, which were focused on the Candace and her consort.

His hair, abundant and short, framed his face in ringlets. Both his hair and his well-groomed beard were warm dark brown. His nose had wide nostrils with a slight bridge. Prominent cheekbones and a forceful chin gave his face a strong chiseled appearance.

Servers poured wine into electrum goblets. Each guest also received ceramic pots of liquid brewed from Arabica beans.

Arabica Beans  (See attribution at end of this post.)

The stranger brought his goblet to his lips, sipped, and returned it to the table. What a splendid mouth—full with expressive lips thick in the middle with a graceful curve thinning toward the edges. How would his exquisite mouth feel in a kiss? The giddy thought surprised her, leaving her face hot and her breaths labored.

Abi knew nothing of techniques a young woman could use to attract a rich man’s attention. Now that her body had taken on a womanly shape, men she didn’t trust had stared at her. Abi inhaled a ragged breath“I will obey Papa, do what is expected.” She mumbled into her scarf.

Abi was merely the Candace’s young cousin no longer belonging in the royal court. If Amantitere ignored her, the chances of attracting the stranger would be slight. Abi resolved to employ all her abilities.

Her heart raced at the thought of performing. Whether or not the Candace asked her, she rehearsed mentally what she would do just in case. Once she arrived at the point of flinging herself into the music, she’d feel better. She would drink in the exhilaration of the moment, if such a time would come. Standing in the row, she visualized each move she’d make.

After her mental rehearsal, she returned to her fretfulness about the man she planned to charm. He had other wives, no doubt. She realized her desire to be a man’s only wife was silly.

“Oh, my head hurts.”

Nobody heard her. Nobody cared.

How rare it would be to become a foreigner’s only woman—how could a woman ever be valuable as a human being to any man? Remaining a virgin a little longer, if not forever, was her desire. Intimacy, she had learned, served three purposes—giving pleasure to a man, providing a woman with financial security, and procreating children. She already had her little brother and sister. Instead of marrying, she’d care for them.

Shivering with memories of the roughness of her father’s hand against the back of her head, Abi worked her way to a place near the table where the royal couple and the man sat.

Netekamane, the Candace’s consort spoke to the foreigner. “What brings you to Meroe?”

“Trading.” The man spoke Meroitic with an unnatural inflection.

Abi smiled, but not too much. She had never seen such a handsome man. He reminded her of traders she’d seen from many cultures—Greek, Berber, East African, Jewish—all in one person. His attire showed he was a son of Abraham.

Amantitere clapped her hands. “It is not an evening when we will conduct business.”

The foreigner acquiesced with a nod. “The palace is elegant.”

Two attendants dressed in yellow kilts, collar necklaces of turquoise mounted in gold, and gold bracelets on their upper arms appeared before her.

“Bring the gifts for Simon of Cyrene.”

Her Highness presented jewelry of gold and shells, a bronze vase, a tunic embellished with golden threads, knives with quality blades, double-edged swords.

Simon summoned two of his men, who were waiting nearby. They presented his gifts to the Candace—jewelry of carved jade and lengths of painted silk from the Far East. He included a gift of purple fabric from Thyatira and perfume oils not found in Nubia.

The royal family gave Simon an ebony platter. The gift exchange was a game the royal household relished.

Since Abi’s early childhood, she’d watched Papa exchange items prized by the wealthy. Also, she’d seen the elegant possessions of the Candace.

While attendants arranged the gifts on nearby vacant tables, Simon ate his dinner in silence. Near the conclusion of the gala, Amantitere summoned Abi with a nod.

“Abi, thank you for bestowing on us the pleasure of your company. I have missed your comely presence.”

Bowing to the floor, Abi spread the skirt of her dress with her arm like a bird opening a wing. Every mood, every sound, every gesture counted in her strategy. From the room full of beautiful young women, Simon could select anyone he chose.

Besides, she had no evidence he was looking for a wife. He most likely had one or two wives with children already awaiting him in his native land. Wouldn’t he select a new wife from his own people?

If he should find someone in Meroe, he and the woman would travel back to his home in disgrace and inconvenience. No women were in his caravan to maintain proper decorum.

If she wanted a better life, she not only had to prepare to face such an inconvenience, but she also needed to make the evening a success. Her insides tightened in uneasiness.

“Abi, please honor us by playing a song.”

“Yes, my Queen. It would be my honor. Please give me a moment.” Abi tilted her head to Simon, then rushed away.

In her chamber, she yanked off her leather sash so her clothing would flow as she danced and so she could breathe deeply as she played. The dress, a filmy shift of premium cotton, hung from her shoulders. She picked up her short open-ended reed flute. Warm-up notes surged from it as she floated back toward the banquet hall.

Back inside the great room, she willed her entire being into instant excitement. Clapping double time to the rhythm in progress, she skipped as the drum continued its persistent beat. Her wide scarf flew as she twirled about. Papa’s golden bands blazed with her constant motion. The other young women, the archers in training, joined her in a spontaneous folk dance and paraded around the guests. Everyone else in the court added to the rhythm.

Finger snaps that sounded like a hundred crickets.

Clucks with tongues.

Crisp slaps on thighs.

Clapping that throbbed throughout the massive room.

All the percussion made by the guests throbbed in flawless rhythm. The tension of the performance energized the dizzying music from within Abi.

As it reached a crescendo, she led the dancers, who now twirled with their arms outstretched, past each guest. She sent a furtive glance in Simon’s direction, but he didn’t make the slightest glimpse toward her.

Abrupt silence punctuated her song. The drum stopped when she did.

Her presentation was having no effect on him. She sought his attention not simply because he was sophisticated, handsome, and Jewish but because he was rich. What she needed—what Papa required—was, however, slipping out of her hands.

After a few more pauses in her performance, Abi reached a final halt. As she tiptoed over to the Candace’s table, where she laid her flute beside Simon, everyone’s eyes turned toward her. Practicing the skill acquired from her warrior heritage, she conquered the turmoil within her heart.

Abi, raising her right hand and snapping her fingers, went to stand in front of the royal table. The other young women formed a line with her in the middle. She hummed a melody, while the others added harmony. Shutting her left ear with her hand, she willed to make her voice sound as pleasant as it could. Her soprano melody penetrated through the complex chords of the rich accompanying voices.

The performers and guests clapped, clucked, and hummed songs of romance and hope for a joyful new season, the close harmony an auditory feast. Loving the music and loving to be a part of it. Abi tried with all her power to express the feelings of each song.

Before the diners could grow tired of the performance, Abi stopped. She grasped the bottom of her flowing dress in her right hand and lifted it outstretched as she gave the Candace a deep final bow. After their bows, the other dancers returned to the line.

Abi took her flute back to the chamber, where she put on her belt. As soon as she could, she returned to a place against the wall, where the other maidens stood. Her heart pounded as she gasped for air. Perspiration glowed on her skin.

The young men danced in a line to the accompaniment of clucking, finger snapping, and hand clapping. They bounced with springy knees. Rapid somersaults completed their performance. After two dances, the Candace signaled to the men. “Enough.”

As the public party ended and the young people filed out, Abi lagged at the end of the line.

Simon rose and turned toward the door.

Amantitere commanded, “Sit down.”

“Certainly,” Simon returned to his chair.

“You and your men will spend the night here.”

“Yes. Your chief servant has shown us to our quarters. Thank you, your Highness.”

“You came here on business, no doubt.”

“I am searching for a man named Negasi. His reputation has spread far from here.”

“Abi, come back,” the Candace called

Abi turned and walked to the royal table.

“Tomorrow when you return home, please serve as guide for this man. Take him to Negasi.”

“Gladly.” Abi kept her face expressionless.

“Simon, you will return here to my court tomorrow. I have urgent business I must discuss with you.” 

Attribution for Photograph of arabica beans:
Starr 070308-5472 Coffea arabica" by Forest & Kim Starr. Licensed under CC BY 3.0 via Wikimedia Commons - http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Starr_070308-5472_Coffea_arabica.jpg#/media/File:Starr_070308-5472_Coffea_arabica.jpg 
See the following article for more information about arabica coffee:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Coffea_arabica

Abi of Cyrene, Chapter Nine

CHAPTER NINE

Escape from the Predators

Abi sprinted toward home. Papa would be glad traders were approaching Meroe. He’d thank her. As she bounded ahead, the sun warmed her skin until she glistened. She outran the goat stampede.

Papa wouldn’t tolerate an interruption from the business at hand. Providentially, Melech was safe from a thrashing about the loss of a goat.

As her fingers lifted the latch, she yelled over her shoulder. “Papa, men are riding up the road on the Candace’s camels.”

He showed no surprise—no reaction. Did he expect the men? He must have known that, since the water had risen high enough to smooth the rough rapids, the time had come when merchants could sail with the winds from the north. Had someone else told him the traders were coming?

Out of breath, she fumbled with the latch. As she stepped aside, the goats thundered through the gate.

“Don’t rush the goats like that. How many times have I told you and told you again? Running overheats them. It keeps them from letting down the fat in their milk.”

Why was Papa fretting over the goats’ milk when the season of business was ripe? During the years she was trained in the court, Abi had received instruction about traveling on the Nile. Meroe, the gateway to African wealth, served as a trade corridor between Egypt and the tropics. If the traders returned before the waters receded, the Nile would take them back north with its current. Traveling farther south than Egypt was risky, but merchants made the hazardous trips because of the richness of ebony, ivory, steel, and gold.

“Papa, merchants are coming.” Did he hear her yelling?

“Okay.” He was sitting in front of the house on his stone bench across from the big rock where he had sat earlier that day. His lean legs were crossed, with his feet tucked underneath him.

“Jews,” she said.

He spit out a wad of chewed brown nuts. “Wash yourself well. You’re dripping with sweat.” His snakelike eyes darted at her. With his slender fingers that reminded her of reptiles, he centered his black turban on his head and stroked the immense gold-encased emerald.

“You smell rank.” Papa leered at her.

“Let me help take care of the goats.” She skidded past him. “Then I’ll wash.”

He sprang to his feet.

Slap! Struck the back of her head.

Shove! At the same time he struck her, his raised leg became a barrier she failed to step over. Although she lost her balance, she managed to lessen the intensity of the blow by yielding as a willow branch. Curling to protect herself from the ragged pavement of rocks, she fell.

“Look after yourself.” He growled. “Melech cares for the goats.”

Raising herself to a standing position, she held her head and grimaced so her father would know the punishment was sufficient.

“You filthy pig. Wash yourself and come back to me. This is your last chance.”

“Ouch.” She cowered toward the front door.

“You’re a worthless girl with no distinctive quality. So ordinary you make me sick. My biggest regret is that I didn’t dash your brains on a rock when you were born. It may not be too late.” His crazed eyes frightened her in a new way.

“I’m sorry.” With a gentle hand, she patted her injured head.

“If I make a smart trade, I can rid myself of you today. And maybe even turn a profit.”

At the wash table, she untied her laced leather bib at her neck and at her midriff. Next she yanked off the short garment made of braided leather straps and decorated with shells strung from a sash hung low from her waist.

She lathered with a creamy bar made from ashes and the fat milk of the goats, rinsed, and patted dry. With shea butter, she polished her skin to a glow. After the oil absorbed, she slipped into a flowing shift.

Her stepmother, holding oil of frankincense in her hands, stood before her. Abi had never worn frankincense, something her father considered too precious for his daughters. She stood with a serene pose as the stepmother dipped into the fragrance and dotted it behind Abi’s ears and inside the folds of her wrists, elbows, neck, and knees.

Abi set her mouth in a fine line. The lavish investment was something she would tolerate but not enjoy. It came not to honor her but to send her away. For the moment she assumed her role as the royal cousin of the Candace instead of the rejected female her father despised.

She returned to Negasi and stood unblinking before him. The loose bracelets and rings with which he adorned her weighted her arms and hands.

He fastened more bracelets onto her ankles. “Lace your sandals tighter. Don’t waste time.” 

Careful with her flowing garment, she bent to tighten the sandals and stood in front of him. Was she growing taller, or was Papa stooping?

In his hand he held enormous gold hoops. The holes in her earlobes, seldom used, had almost closed.

“Let me do that.” First her right ear. She pushed the metal into the spot sealed by new skin. She could handle the discomfort if she repierced her own ear. Sparks of light flashed before her closed eyes.

Little Hadassah fetched a rag from inside.

“Quick.” The pain had ceased, but blood trickled down her neck.

“Right there. Let me help.” The little sister blotted the drops before they could reach the top of her shift.

“Now, the left one.”

Perched on a low stool while Hadassah embellished her hair with ivory combs from her father’s stash of merchandise, Abi waited. Although she had questions, she held her words.

“Sister, you look like a princess,” Hadassah whispered.

Abi stood tall. It would have been gratifying to go to the little pool where she sometimes studied her reflection.

“Come here.” The stepmother shoved her to the wall where hung a sheet of polished bronze big enough to produce a dim reflection of her face.

“Thank you for letting me look.”

Papa stood in front of her again. “Come with me. Move with the elegance of a fawn.”

Humming a song too soft for Papa’s ears, she followed. Music helped.

He turned so fast she dodged to avoid a collision with him. “Where is your flute? You forgot it, didn’t you?”

“In my bag.”

They mounted the two mares that Melech had saddled for them. Abi trailed behind Negasi along the Arabica-lined lane to the abode of Amantitere, the Candace.

“Pay attention. Do as I say.”

“Yes, Papa.”                                                                                                           

When they arrived at the front entrance of the stone palace, he spoke softly to the gatekeeper and dropped a coin in an outstretched hand.

“Dismount your horses,” the gatekeeper said. “Enter through the gate.”

The chief steward looked passed Negasi and into Abi’s eyes. “Yes, the Candace will receive a foreign dignitary. After dinner she will expect entertainment. She might welcome your daughter.”

Abi and Papa passed into the vestibule.

“Abi, remember this is your chance.” He jerked her elbow. “Do your best. You must attract the attention of a rich man. You should find at least one such fellow in the group. Never mind how old he is. Don’t consider his looks.”

Silently she focused wide eyes on the stone tiles at her feet.

“When the festivities begin, stand near the wall with the damsels of the court. If you are lucky, Amantitere will call for you.” To her relief, Papa moved away and mingled with the palace staff.

Abi looked for her older sisters among the guards. “Lisimba,” she called out. “I thought I saw you.” Her face felt hot. “No, I was mistaken.”

While she waited for a signal to go farther into the palace, she surveyed the grounds through a window. Camels and horses delivered the travelers.

An official assigned the travelers their quarters for the night. Servants from the Candace’s court rushed forward, but the strangers raised stiff arms with palms turned outward. As two of the travelers stood as guards, the others unloaded their own baggage from the camels, cart, and donkeys.

Milling through the crowd, Papa gave the staff and foreigners sidelong glimpses. They eyed him with stern expressions. Any time he’d start approaching people and introducing himself as Negasi, cousin of the Candace. People would look at him with amazement.

Before the usual could happen, Papa left, holding his head high. Abi sighed with embarrassment because people laughed at him, and she was sorry she didn’t honor her father.

The aroma of poultry, vegetables, and fruit wafted through the air. Clay dishes thudded, signaling the preparations of the royal meal.

Pigeons, (Public Domain, Project Gutenberg)

Where were her sisters? She couldn’t divert her attention from her mission and look for them. If she failed to find a husband, she’d receive a larger portion of Papa’s wrath than ever.

Finally a female attendant escorted Abi to a tiny chamber. It seemed to be fashioned from a slot of leftover space crammed between larger rooms.

On her way to the bedchamber assigned to her, Abi studied each face in the gathering of young women filling the corridor. She needed to talk to Lisimba and Malaika for a moment. Too late, she realized she’d failed to greet her former companions. She must have appeared cold and indifferent.

No longer invited to share the sleeping hall with the others, she regretted being an outsider, although the matron housekeeper had honored her with the private chamber.

Abi of Cyrene, Chapter Eight

CHAPTER EIGHT

The Stranger

“Abi, do you remember when the family traveled to see the north waterfalls?” Melech glanced down into the green valley. “Or were you too young?”

“Yes, but I’m not sure why we went.”

He sighed. “Your mother wanted to see them.”

“Did Papa go with us?”

“No, but I did.”

“I’ve always wanted to go beyond that point.” She doubted he’d ever go as far as the waterfall again.

He turned around, piercing her with his sharp eyes. His mouth twitched.

“Yes, I know what you plan to say. I had my chances. As an archer I could have—”

“No need to say it.” He shrugged his shoulders.

Nubian Man on Camel 

“I wonder when the runners came to Meroe to get camels and horse carts for shuttling wares from the traders’ boats to the settlement. Maybe in the early morning?” She had no doubt he was as surprised as she was.

After Abi’s mother died, Melech taught her many things during her leaves from the Candace’s court. “Along the watercourse rough rapids make traveling miserable except when the floodwaters smooth them. Traders navigate the swollen river from the big sea in the north.”

Every year at the end of the rainy season, Papa piled rugs, silk, jade, and spices inside the mud brick house Abi called home. In exchange he gave gold, silver, ebony, and ivory.

“Conditions are ideal for visitors,” Abi said.

At dinner last night, Papa had hardly sat still because of the excitement. Almost pleasant, he’d said, “When the crocodile god sweats, the river overflows and brings goodness.”

No matter how many times her father recited his platitude, Abi found it ludicrous.

“The clouds bless us with fresh tears, which appease the crocodile god. When all the gods have had their fill, the rain stops until they require it again.”

Zebediah mumbled, “Papa, will that . . . the rain . . . quit soon?”

“Speak up, little worm.” Papa slammed his fist onto the table.

Squeezing her brother’s hand underneath the table, Abi checked the smile trying to break out on her face. Papa, who practiced the religion of Adonai, the one true God beloved by their ancestors since the days of Solomon (some believed their African heritage extended back to the days of Moses and Abraham) also paid homage to the river gods, the crocodile god, the sun god, and the moon goddess. Because she couldn’t change the fool, she laughed at him in secret.

For Negasi of Meroe, Abi was another commodity like the pelts, rugs, jade, and ebony that appeared and disappeared. She was worth no more than castor-bean pomades or shea butter.

He sold her favorite camel.

If Papa didn’t reach an agreement with Elan, she’d become the property of a man who would make her follow pagan rituals or become a prostitute.

Giving her to Elan would boost Papa’s standing in the community, but he’d prefer to discard his fourth daughter without shelling out more gold. All the alternatives were dreadful, and she had little choice. She wasn’t worth much.

It was rumored that Seth, a young pagan, wanted her for his bride. Not only was his kind of manliness revolting, but he made no pretense of worshiping Adonai, even though he had Jewish ancestors. She wanted a husband who would lead her future family in the Jewish faith. She could dismiss any thought of Seth, who was not as wealthy as Elan.

Time and again, her mind tried to wrestle through her problem. Interrupting her worries, the strangers riding the camels bounced along closer and closer.

Strange traders brought unpredictable peril. Not that they would harm her upon first encounter, not when she was with Melech. Any visiting merchants wouldn’t risk losing their transactions. Men loved trading more than anything else. Some man might strike a deal for her with Papa.

“Melech, look at that big man.” Despite the dread in the pit of her stomach, Abi laughed. She pointed at the huge man holding onto the saddle that encircled the camel’s hump.

“If he rode a Meroitic horse, his feet would drag.”

Snaking along the terrain, the ancient road constructed of flat gray rocks dipped and jutted toward the approaching lane, which wound so close that one segment almost touched another before it trailed around a cliff. The camels jostled in rhythm and passed the goats in the curve.

Her face veiled by the silk wrap, she squatted in a place where the goats would conceal her, out of the strangers’ view. She needed to be careful. If the men saw her, they might find her attractive. Since her earliest memories, her friends and siblings had admired her. They’d say, “Abi, you’re beautiful.”

“Beauty is of no value without wealth,” Papa always insisted.

The men would pass without noticing her hidden by the goats.

The hammers of her heart struck hard and fast against the insides of her chest. If Papa sold her to a stranger, what would her life become? At least with Elan she’d know what to expect—three other wives along with frequent beatings and constant unwanted intimate encounters. At least Elan didn’t confess paganism. He made a show of his Judaism, although his heart was too cold for him to be a true Jew in the eyes of Adonai.

The procession moved closer. Some of the Candace’s men serving as guides, followed the foreigners. The big man, the apparent leader, pulled back on his reins with his left hand and motioned with his right hand for the riders behind him to slow. He sheltered his eyes with his hand as he faced Melech, Abi, and the goats.

Not turning his head in the direction of the strangers, Melech led the goats toward home in his steady pace.

From Abi’s secure place where the goats concealed her, she scrutinized the peculiar foreigners. Holding her basket in place, she tried to walk in a squatting position. Two of the goats nudged the basket.

“Stop it. You’ve had enough to eat.” She held the basket high.

Her eyes returned to the leader, who appeared older than Abi, maybe as much as ten years. Perhaps a prince, he had a commanding presence that gave her the impression he was comfortable in his role of leadership. Something about the way he moved—sitting erect, holding his head high, commanding the others with a mere swing of his arm—told Abi and everyone else this man was in charge.

As Melech moved along, Abi had problems with the goats nudging her. It was impossible to hold the basket out of reach and keep herself out of sight. She stood tall, basket held by her hands on her head, as she tried to keep pace with the goats. As the distance between the traders and the goats narrowed, she got a good look at the man. The circling bends of the trail brought him closer. His hefty muscles bulged through his clothing. He had brawny legs and thighs, different from the slight limbs of Nubian men.

Abi realized she should have returned to her squatting position, but for the moment she stared at the man. Besides, the goats kept trying to steal greens.

She bent her legs to hunch over, holding the basket intact. To walk, look, and bend over at the same time challenged her. She could imagine how ridiculous she appeared.

Maybe he thought it was strapped to a goat. She was too busy looking to worry about details. He wore a white tunic and mantle made of linen or cotton—she was not sure which. His loose garments, embellished with fringe, had edges bound by blue ribbon. Around his waist was a wide leather belt. A leather strap over his right shoulder held a bag at his waist. A long beige prayer shawl draped over his broad shoulders.

Sitting rigid in the saddle on the camel, he came closer, his eyes aimed toward her, where the goats had nudged her to the far edge of the herd. Shameful. She had glared at him . . . in the heat of the moment she had looked too long at his forceful eyes and his massive erect shoulders. Maybe she wasn’t concealed as well as she had hoped. If he saw her, he didn’t let her know.

(Picture: public domain/Project Gutenberg)

Slide Show about Abi of Cyrene

Abi of Cyrene on You Tube

Abi of Cyrene, Chapter Seven

CHAPTER SEVEN

The Winding Roads

The sound of the Nile roaring in Abi’s head overpowered her thoughts about escaping the dreadful marriage. Logs accumulated in clusters as they floated along. A tree loosened from the bank and joined the flotilla of dead wood. In the rush of the black water toward a lower point, the river washed decomposing logs downstream.
Several feet from where Abi sat, a long fat log left the mass of the others and drifted toward the bank. Contrary to the usual pattern, it broke away and moved close.
The goat scooted toward the log, which exploded with a loud slapping noise. Water splashed high as the predator and victim engaged in combat. The river filled with bleating goat and snarling teeth. Gangly legs with useless hooves hung from the malicious clinched jaws. An eerie growl came from the beast.
Heart pounding, Abi scrambled up the bank away from the gaping-mouthed monster with its diabolic scowl. As she backed away, the water reddened with the fresh blood of a half-grown goat, devoured by a crocodile for breakfast.

The other goats fled. Gasping, Melech ran one way and another.
Melech didn’t grab his bow from where it was attached to his back and pull an arrow from his quiver. “Attacking the beast would have served no purpose. One more . . . beating. . . from Negasi.”
“Maybe not. Papa will say . . . the goat sacrificed itself as an offering to the crocodile god.” Along the bank, Abi darted, circling the panicked herd.
Melech, panting, chased the strays. “Don’t . . . pay attention . . . to him. Don’t . . . believe that.”
“You know I don’t. As his daughter, I cannot change anything that man says. Who cares what he thinks?”
“You’re right, but he’ll still thrash me for losing a goat.”
“If I’d paid attention, I could’ve stopped the crocodile.” Abi soothed her little friends with gentle pats.
The goats fell into their routine and started down the path, Abi following, basket in hand and head lowered.
“Don’t blame yourself.” Melech’s shoulders fell as he caught up with her.
“I should have had my sling in my hands.” Abi chewed a cuticle. She’d failed.
“I’m the one who failed.” Melech shook his head. “I can’t deceive you, Abi. You know me too well. I lost control of myself.” He scrunched his eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry.” She placed her hand on his shoulder. “No one has to know you panicked for a second. I would have, too.”
He slung a clinched fist.
“Whatever needs to be remedied we can fix. I mean it. I’ll tell Papa it was my fault, and he’ll beat me too. Maybe he won’t hit you as hard if he punishes both of us.”
“You don’t need to.”
“It’s all right. We can handle it.”
“That’s just it, Abi. You’re going away any day now. Even if you weren’t leaving, I mustn’t expect you to do my work.”
“I don’t do your work. I love to help. That’s all. Right now I have greater concerns than one more beating.” She tugged at Melech’s sleeve. “I’m desperate for your help. Pray hard and fast that Papa won’t make me marry Elan. When my father gets a plan, he moves like fire from a thundery sky.”
Docile after the roundup, the goats trotted along the olive-tree-lined road toward the field of lush grass. For a fleeting moment Abi let her fears slip away. The silvery leaves surrounding her gave a lightness to her spirit. No matter how much she willed to keep the happiness of the day, the appearance of the gnarled olive tree trunks snatched her happiness. Something she couldn’t express in solid thoughts about the ancient trees transported her back into the morning’s anxiety.
As Melech hastened to the front of the herd, she fell behind. “Papa owns everything and everybody.”
Traveling in his brisk walk, Melech would have to strain to hear her talking.
“He makes all the choices.” Abi cried out. “He altered your body. Don’t you hate him?”
Turning his face back toward her, he scowled.
Now that she’d pulled sadness out of him, she continued. “Gold, his son, cattle, goats, the horses and donkeys, his wife, my sisters and me, his slaves. Did you hear me, Melech? I listed all that in the order of importance to Papa.”
Melech, not responding, walked on.
“Property, nothing but property.” Flinging her arms, she shouted.
Melech stopped and turned toward her. The goats skidded to a stop. “Girl, get happy.”
“I’ll try.” She tuned up a song as though nothing were amiss.
Melech joined her, and the goats chimed in with bleats and the ringing of their bells. They paraded until they reached the stopping place in a patch of high grass.
Abi climbed up some rocks until she reached another flat green place. Having laid her basket down, she stretched her arms toward the expanse of the landscape and twirled in joyful song.
Across the countryside, some places were sacred. This was one of them. Adonai had designed its beauty ages before the day Abi connected with it.
“Time to do my work.” As the goats stuffed their bellies, she selected the plants her family could use.
At the end of the morning, she toted her basket down a path to the spot where Melech tended the goats.
“You found plenty of sweet-smelling herbs.” He leaned his head to one side and smiled.
“And greens. My basket is full. See?”
“Let’s head home.”
Papa. Dread burned within.
As they strolled homeward, she filled her chest with air and projected sounds across the green gorge. Did the goats know she sang to drown the frightening voices within her? That Melech made music to soothe his apprehension? The valley echoed their songs back to them.
Down the path a serpentine string of camels progressed through the trail’s sharp curves. Four diminutive horses pulled a cart, several more carried men. Donkeys bent their shoulders under heavy loads. “The end of the rainy season. Men coming to Meroe to see Papa.”

(Herd of Goats, 03-24-14 © Michele Alfieri/IStock)

Do You Know How God Loves You?

Do You Know How God Loves You?

You can download this daily devotional book for free May 30-June 3 on Amazon. I'll give you more details on the date of the opportunity.

Abi of Cyrene. Chapter Six

CHAPTER SIX

The Banks of the Nile

Abi willed not to hear Papa bemoaning his plight. Sloshing through the mire, she locked steps with Melech as he led the goats along the path toward the west bank of the Nile.

Melech poked the wayward ones toward their destination. His dismal aura outweighed the freshness of the morning. Without hesitation, the goats pushed each other near the river’s edge.

Abi leapt to the top of a boulder above the riverbank. From her perch, she studied her surroundings. “What has you upset, Melech?”

“I overheard.” He scratched his smooth face.

“From the looks of you it must have been bad.” Abi leaned toward him, the basket remaining upright.

“It’s terrible. I fear for your future.”

“I heard Negasi talking to Elan about a betrothal.”

“For me?”

“You’re next in line.” Melech touched his fingers one at a time.

“Old man Elan has three wives.” Abi tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

“And fourteen daughters. He needs a son who will carry on his name and inherit his wealth.”

The Nubian goats ran all different directions.

“They know you’re upset, so they’re acting unruly.”

“He beats his women.” Melech swished his staff into a puddle. “For every reason and sometimes for no reason.”

“Just like Papa.” She shrugged. “I could handle that. I’ve had experience, but I don’t intend to live that way.”

“You need better.” He bit his lips.

“Men beat their women.” How would Melech behave if he had not lost his manliness? Would he still be kind?

“I would have never beat my wife.” Melech knew what she was thinking before she could tell him.

“Elan says he’ll kill his wives if they don’t give him a son. Elan doesn’t deserve an heir.”

What purpose did a man like Elan serve in Adonai’s world? Also, how did the just God let a butcher of humanity take away Melech’s ability to father a son? Was not Melech better than a thousand others? He was more her father than Negasi was. “I’m younger than many of his daughters. I cannot marry into that madhouse. I’ll run away.”

“And place yourself in danger of being molested? Or if you survived for a time, a big cat would devour you for his evening meal.”

“No matter what, I’ll not wed that stinky man.” Sadness flickered through her. “Think what we can do.”

Melech poked his staff into the mud. “All that’s left for us is to pray.”

“You rely on prayer, and I’ll rely on you.” Time after time, Melech’s prayers had worked. This time, how would the Lord intervene in her circumstances? “A eunuch and a girl. Will Adonai hear us?”

“Be at rest, my dear child. The Lord has been good.” Melech’s voice soothed her. “Good to us.”

“I’ll try.” Abi forced her mouth into a fresh smile so tight the tension clinched her dimples, but she raised her eyebrows in a frown.

“Stop agonizing.”

“I can’t help myself. This marriage Papa is arranging for me—a bed of scorpions.”

“Don’t be afraid.” He pointed toward the sky. “Trust Adonai. When conditions slip into the impossible, sing, my child. Adonai put sweet music in your heart. Don’t hear the ugly.”

A tiny goat wandered off, and Melech poked it with his long staff.

“Silly kid.”

“I looked for Lisimba and Malaika up at the Candace’s palace yesterday, but I didn’t see them anywhere,” he said.

“I don’t know where they’ve gone this time.”

Maah. Baah. The curious faces nudged against Melech. Brown spotted, white striped, black and white, a brown stripe down a back—each little creature had unique markings. They butted heads and chased each other in circles.

Neh-uh-uh.

Mothers, heavy with milk, fed their young. Satiated little ones hopped up on the rock next to Abi. They came to her, and she rubbed their fur. The anguish burning within cooled as she sat in the middle of the playful goats. “I love you, precious smelly creatures.”

Melech keen eyes pierced Abi’s mind. “You could have followed the way of Lisimba and Malaika.”

She sparred with a kid. “I could have had big adventures, could have stood in a place of honor in the army of the Candace.”

“And gone away on ships and elephants so you could help defend the majestic land of Nobatia.”

The Nile, thick with Nobatian soil, flowed by with unbridled power. “You would have shriveled up in sadness if I’d left.”

“I would have survived. The truth is that you didn’t want to leave.”

“I should have gone. Now look at the danger I face.”

“You don’t know what lies ahead,” he said, yet sometimes he had visions.

“What do you see in my future?”

“Meroe, like the sun, will soon rise away from you. I dreamed it.”

“Never could I imagine an existence without my little sister and brother. Who’ll care for them?”

“Hadassah and Zebediah won’t always be children.”

“Did you dream I’d marry Elan?” She balled her hands into fists. “I won’t.”

“I didn’t say you’d marry him,” Melech said.

“I don’t know what else I’ll do, but I’ll trust Adonai, my Creator God, for a means of escape.”

“Sometimes you can’t run from the circumstances in your life. You aren’t always in control of your future. Sometimes you have to make the best of situations. ”

She looked away and dropped her chin. She couldn’t—she wasn’t strong enough.

“What matters is the way you react,” he said.

“You’ve lived a passive life. I can’t exist like you. I’m not strong enough to submit to Papa.” Abi set her face in a hard expression. “I’ll escape. Go and take you and the young ones with me.”

 “Keep calm, child.”

Silent moments passed while Melech folded his hands prayerfully.

“If an opportunity presents itself, leave. Don’t worry about us.”

“No matter where life takes me, I’ll always long to have you with me.” She placed her basket beside her and pulled out a handful of succulent dates. They smelled rich, but her appetite departed from her. “Want some dates?”

“Sure.”

He came over to the rock where she sat, and she filled his hand.

“Bread?” Abi held up the crusty day-old loaf.

He took a chunk and held his hands full of food toward heaven. “Bless this abundant sustenance, my Lord.”

She pinched a crust, placed it back in the basket, sipped water from the goatskin.

“If Negasi will wait, the Lord Almighty will send you a suitable husband in his own time, but your papa is in a hurry.”

“I want nothing but to stay here.” She leaned back against the rock. The sweet and the savage of the treetops brought comfort from the dread of her father’s heavy hand. How could colors anywhere else on earth compare to the lush leaves flickering in the light breeze? Intertwined vines drooped with new grapes. When she was a tiny child, her mother told her heaven held more beauty than earth. Could it be possible?

Melech nibbled the breakfast she’d provided.

Hungry cats, savage river creatures, and lurking reptiles evoked little fear. Reasonable caution came from her two sources—co-existence with the natural world and years of military training. The most ominous beast of all was her father, a man who would marry her off to the devil if he could gain a shekel.

The little goats—she wanted to stay with them forever. Their comical expressions, floppy ears, feigned independence, and their infinite variety of markings promised amusement.

“The goats have drunk their fill.” Melech, as always, kept his eyes on each kid. Even though the goats’ nimble legs kept them from slipping down the steep bank, herding them away from the water’s edge required caution. 

Abi removed her long filmy scarf woven of indigo silk and returned the basket to its place on her head.

“You’re wearing that today?”

“Why not? I take good care of my things.” She let it drift over her fingers. “Papa has plenty of these.”

“If Negasi catches you—”

“Lisimba gave it to me.” Abi held the end of it up, the sun’s rays shining through it. “It came from the Han Empire in the great Far East.”

“You have your father’s stubborn nature.”

She pushed her bottom lip out. “I have a plan to escape.”

“Tell me.”

“I’ll tell no one, not even you.”

“That’s fine.”

“All right, then.” She couldn’t keep anything from Melech. “I’ll sneak over to the Candace’s mansion and hide.”

“The river is like you—always unpredictable, always changing.” Something about the eunuch Melech mystified her. “The time will come when you will settle into a calm existence.”

Enough. Time to work out her plan. “I know a place I can stay where nobody will find me.”

“In a storage room?”

“How did you guess?”

“I see inside you.”

She lowered her smiling face. At night she’d come out and find food in the royal kitchen . . . hide drinking water . . . live forever stowed away in the store rooms.

“Last winter Meroe had almost no rain. The river became a tiny stream slicing deep into the rocky earth. Remember how we used the rainwater saved in cisterns for our needs and for the livestock.”

“Then came the rain.”

“Water flooding from upstream raised its level to the edges of the banks. The overflow almost spilled over the banks, but it fizzled at the last minute. The green earth became pleasant once more.”

“And I’m like that?”

“Because you are a young woman. For the moment, the river is in a state of balance with the land. One day you will find your balance.”

###

“Did you hear about Abi, daughter of Negasi?”

“A crocodile swallowed her.” The gossip would spread throughout Meroe.

“She had a habit of sitting too close to the water’s edge.”

(NOTE: Nubian doe  07-11-12 © JimnEmily/IStock)

Abi of Cyrene, Chapter Five

CHAPTER FIVE

Yesterday

Speedier than a hawk eagle launching a flight, Simon initiated the journey. Abi took the place assigned to her in the middle of the caravan. She let her body flow into the rhythm of the ride, but her mind refused the comfort of the rhythmic bumping along.

Simon had another wife . . . or four.  Such a man must have a dozen. She’d live in a harem. Some of the women would dress as exotic dancers wearing jewels and smelling like precious incense. The sister-wives would belittle her.

Although Simon had the appearance of a committed son of David, he traveled all over the world. Looking at him, she could see he had all kinds of ancestors. A man like Simon could choose any religion he wanted and still honor his ancestors, still pretend he honored God.

Only yesterday her life turned around. She had studied the odd people. Men who came to her father’s house left after a few hours. Having left with a group of foreign men—these sailors from Cyrene—strange men, surrounding her, she experienced isolation for the first time in her life.

Riding on a camel along an unknown road surrounded by an unintelligible tongue, she averted panic by transporting her reality into another realm—yesterday.

Each moment of the preceding day played before her as a dream. Once again she was back home. She imagined every detail . . . every smell.  She’d live in the world of a day ago. No, she wouldn’t give up Melech, her brother and sisters, or the goats.

Not until she could gain an understanding of why she lost all that mattered.

###

Yesterday morning:

The earthy smell of morning drifted through Abi’s window from the forest, grown lush after weeks of relentless rain. The welcomed dawn would allow Abi to flee from home for the day. She’d go where the demon that dwelled in Papa could not oppress her.

“Papa won’t see me,” she mumbled to the mice scampering about her room. “I can’t afford to fail. If I do, though, how will he damage the day?”

The leather strings obeyed her fingers and made a noise similar to that of the mice squeaking at the bottom of the window.

As she dressed for the day, she suppressed the music coming from within her heart. She had to be careful not to awaken her little brother and sister. They’d beg to go, then Papa wouldn’t allow any of them to leave the house.

Thank you, little mice, for not messing up my basket. She folded her silk scarf and placed it on top.

Through the open window of the stale house, the green mist from the Nile ushered in the nitrogenous odor of the barnyard. Above her, the clucking pigeons seemed to say, “Look. It’s a day to celebrate.”

Dew glistened everywhere. Those wide leaves were little stubs yesterday.

A mouse squeaked.

Melech would arrive soon to herd the little goats outside of the high fence. She’d sneak through the fog over to the pen and file out with them.

The sharp brown eyes of a mouse gazed at something.

Joy is spinning like a soundless whirlwind through me, little mouse.

 Could these little creatures know?

She tightened the wrappings around all that was precious inside her. She felt like dancing. Instead, she led her feet in deliberate steps.

Fearless, the mouse scampered back to his companion.

Have a nice day, little mice, playing in our room.

She carried her basket in her hand so it would go unnoticed as she escaped to the outside world.

Failure. Papa had moved quieter and earlier than Abi.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Papa growled.

Silence. The air rushed in and out of her in sharp spurts of panic. Holding her breath so he wouldn’t hear her gasping, she stiffened her shoulders and froze her expression.

“You heard me,” he said.

Dread filled her being.

“Speak up.”

“To help Melech with the goats.” Ever present was the iron strength of Papa’s cruel hands, but she’d awakened too happy to let him hurt her. Abi shifted fast avoiding his fist. If she could inch out of range without attracting more of his attention . . . .

“I should have dashed your brains from your skull the night you were born.” Rage flashed from his eyes.

“In the wilderness.” She dared mutter the end of his discourse softer than a whisper.

“Don’t mumble. Speak up, I said.” He stepped closer.

She considered running, but she couldn’t go as far as another settlement. Too many dangers loomed in the wilds for an unplanned escape. “Speak? Me?”

The muscles tensed from his neck to his right hand, which clenched in attack mode. He raised his fist.

She backed away, giggling.

“You think it’s funny? I’ll show you funny.”

Having finished chewing, he spit brown nuts toward her, and red juice drizzled over his front. Weaving, he caught himself. Curses against Adonai foamed from his mouth.

Why do you never curse your pagan gods?

“I should have fed you and your sisters to the crocodiles as an offering to the gods of the river.” His diabolic grin displayed orange teeth.

The music within her heart retuned itself while Papa fumed. She’d get through the moment without letting him break her. The rain had stopped and it was a day Papa couldn’t destroy.

Oh, to have been born a slave. Anywhere but here. Some people provided their slaves more kindness than her father gave her.

“Then the female flesh your mother bore me would have served a worthwhile purpose.” Papa continued in his full rant. “As my fourth daughter and a homely one at that, you can bring nothing but shame to the house of Negasi.”

She inched farther from him through the muddy yard.

“Not wealth, social prominence, not fame.” He shook his head and his finger. “You’ve already failed as an archer.”

“Yes sir. Your wrath is justified.” She backed away in a half bow while she nodded. Enough of this tirade. She’d shorten it by agreeing. “You’ve earned it.”

“Our Jewish God mocked me. Five daughters before giving me a son.”

“The only God,” she said under her breath. Before he had a chance to ask her what she said, she nodded again.  “You’re a great man. You deserve better.”

“A weasel of a son he is at that.” The massive emerald set in pure gold and attached to the front of his turban accentuated the green flecks in his brown eyes. 

“He should have been born before his sisters.” She gave him the words he wanted as she backed closer to the night pen. “Then he would’ve been strong like you.”

He perched on his rock again. “He isn’t the kind of boy that will make me proud.” Folding his catlike body on the rock’s flat top, he stared away from her as he narrowed his eyes. “All my children be cursed.”

(NOTE: The above picture is quoted from Nature Wildlife . The photographer's name appears in the left bottom corner.)